


Feeling (And Looking For) Her

by Molko_Niehaus



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Love, There is a happy end I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:17:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molko_Niehaus/pseuds/Molko_Niehaus
Summary: feel  (fēl)
v. felt (fĕlt), feel·ing, feels
a. To perceive through the sense of touch: feel the velvety smoothness of a peach.b. To perceive as a physical sensation: feel a sharp pain; feel the cold.
Cosima can feel Delphine everywhere - inside her lungs, on her dreams, on her tears, in her blood, on her arms. But she's not here. What is it, at the end?
This feeling of looking for her?
[I hold a cough, breathing deeply the woody scent of Siobhan's coat.It's not her.She's not here.But still...]





	1. Feeling her inside my lungs

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a small sequence of 5 chapters situated through season 4. I think I'll finish it as soon as possible (its not a promise but I'll try).
> 
> I choose M rating for future chapters.
> 
> Just a little reminder: English is not my first language. I'm sorry for any typos.

"Oh, no. Just pot." - I said to her once.

I remember that day.

Just pot.

It was when I only needed pot to, you know, "free" my mind, or just chill. They were good times, wheren't they? Yeah, yeah.

I remember when I used to smoke lying flat against my carpet, staring at the thick smoke dissipating through the air while she was working on her "thesis", long and pale legs rested upon my desk and her notebook on her thighs. She used to watch me with that amused look before giving up of studiyng, leaving softly her papers and stuff aside to reach me and straddle my hips, leaning against me with her hands supporting her weight just above my head. She used to smile mischievously to me, whispering:

\- Are you high again, chérie?

I wasn't. Marijuana do not hit me as it used to - besides, this one wasn't pure and strong as San Fran's. But the way she asked me with those dilated pupils and slight hunger... I was a goner before I notice it.

\- You have no idea.

 

 

\--

 

 

\- Why are you smoking cigarettes, Cosima?

\- Because I want to.

\- Oh, really? - He raised an eyebrow. - Is there something with an especific french blonde who used to smoke this same cigarette brand?

\- No.

It was a lie.

 

 

\--

 

 

When I pull the smoke down my throat, I can feel her. I can fell the strong taste of expensive cigarette - stronger than the taste that remained on her mouth when I kissed her, even. I can feel the toxic steam traveling through my limbs and reaching my faulty lungs, poisoning my alveoli and then making the way back to my trachea and going outside my body through my nostrils and lips. I can hear her when I huff and puff these, again and again, I can see her through the smoke and I can feel her when it's kissing my face, making me reek just like her.

Pot doesn't remind me of her. Pot is not strong as her scent, as her memory.

Pot doesn't brings her back to me as cigarette does.

Cigarettes makes me remember when she smoked naked at my window, or on my desk - or inside my kitchen, even. It reminds me when she came to me - after smoking one, maybe two - and crawled all on her four to reach my body and love me as I was a Goddess, and fuck me as I was a Whore.

"You know another very french thing to do?" - It's almost like I can hear her thick accent inebriating my senses, making me flutter.

And then she would answer her own question with something that do not even needed to be french. It was just her wish - I knew that well - of something, and she used to hidden it behind a ridiculous excuse of a "very french thing to do".

And I would love her for that.

 

 

\--

 

 

\- Oi, you know it's killing you, don't you, Cosima.

\- The polyps in my uterus and lungs are already doing it for me, you know.

\- Yeah, yeah, I know, dreadlocks. - She is quiet for an instant. - But cigarettes doesn't help either.

\- I know.

Screaming silence.

\- Cosima, please... Stop.

 

 

\--

 

 

It's been two days that I am practically stuck inside the greenhouse. Scott comes often and tries to get me out - once he can't, he gives me a mug of coffee and ask me to at least take a shower. I answer him nothing beside a low grunt.

I can see the weed forming a green curtain above my eyes - I like to think that it's covering me, protecting me, of the absence of her. But it's ridiculous. Im already feeling it. This absence.

I'm still reeking of cigarettes and pot. And coffee. And wine. And expensive french perfume. And sweat.

All of her smells that I used to feel so badly are here. All of possible Delphine's scents that I used to breath with all my strength hoping for it get tattooed on my lungs are here.

Except for her.

 

 

\--

 

 

\- Look, Cosima, you can't look for her being like that. You have to react and keep fighting. She didn't wanted you to simply give up of everything, sweetheart.

\- I know.

\- So...?

 

 

\--

 

 

It's when Mr. S. hug me that I can finally feel everything.

The pain becomes real and unbereable. Everything becomes absurdly painful.

This scent.

This feelings.

Everything is like daggers ripping my skin.

I collapse against Siobhan's chest. I embrace her desperately, digging her back with my blunt nails. There is tears on my cheeks, a lump on my throat, and I can do anything but cry.

The remaining taste of cigarette on my tongue is awful. It's bitter. It's poisoning me.

 _She's not here_ , it reminds me.

You are looking for her here, but she's not here.

 _She is dead and you are still looking for her_.

 _Here_.

I hold a cough, breathing deeply the woody scent of Siobhan's coat.

It's not her.

She's not here.

But still...

\- I just miss her so much.


	2. Feeling her on my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is another chapter. I don't think it's good at the first one, but It's the best I can do for a while. :)
> 
> Thank you guys for your kind comments and kudos. It means a lot to me. <3
> 
> I'm sorry for any typos! English is not my first language. And I'll try to give to our Cosima something a little happier before the final chapter, k?

 

The first time I’ve dreamt about her, it was the first sweet dream that I’ve had in months. That was the first night that my brain allowed himself to chew some deep desires about her and spat them behind my eyelashes as images of that beautiful and eccentric existence of her. I’ve woke up with butterflies inside my stomach. It took some weeks until I dream with her again.

 

Nowadays, I dream with her every single night.

 

Dying on my hands,

 

Or dying in front of my eyes.

 

Or dying in the darkness, so I can only hear her gasping and choking with her own blood.

 

I’ve started to be afraid of sleeping.

 

\--

 

\- Auntie Cosima?

 

\- Hey, kid, what are you doin’ here? It’s too late.

 

\- Can I read for you one story of the new book Mrs. S gave me?

 

\- Sure thing, kiddo. – She holds a cough, breathing sharply. – But why don’t you want _me_ to read for _you_?

 

Kira seems don’t pay much attention to Cosima’s words, she just embrace the book against her chest with her tiny arms.

 

\- Mrs. S. always read to me a history when I have bad dreams. It helps me to sleep better.

 

\--

 

My mind is too fast. Too noisy. Every single time.

 

And I remember that she was the only one who could soothe it. She has this magic power of shut up my brain. And I dream of it.

 

I don’t know if it’s a memory, or only a dream, or both.

 

I don’t know, but still…

 

I can feel her in my dreams. Before the darkest moment – when she is dead in front of me, I can feel her cradling my face with her bare and oh, so soft hands, I can feel her spreading breathy kisses along my skin. Her light hazel eyes facing mine – She’s always almost crying. Almost weeping – as the same way I saw her that last time at Bubbles’.

 

She is almost crying as she is soothing me with sweet french nothings. I don’t even speak french, but seems like my brain can deceive me with my shitty grammar and my previous memories of her quotes.

 

I can reach her. I can feel her grabbing my heart and squeezing it between her fingers – but it doesn’t hurt me. Instead, it makes my chest warm, and helps me to breathe with my faulty lungs. I can breathe well when she is all around me.

 

Until I can’t anymore.

 

And she dies.

 

And I woke up, crying messily, coughing blood and with sore eyes.

 

During the few seconds of painfully awakening process, I can hear her voice whispering her last words through the cold night.

 

It’s her. Calling out my name.

 

Cosima.

 

_Co-si-ma._

 

My mind starts spinning again.

 

\--

 

\- Cosima, I hate to tell you this, but this gene therapy is not working anymore. The results of your exams are decreasing.

 

\- I know right, Scotty.

 

\- I’m trying my best to find a cure for you. We are, Cosima.

 

\- Yeah, I know right.

 

Scott goes upstairs, sighing and trying his best to do not look at Cosima with sad eyes. She doesn't care. Cosima lingers stuck inside the greenhouse.

 

Once she is alone. She starts to cry.

 

Again.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you guys think? :)


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